


Disobedience

by Make_It_Worse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Praise Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, One Shot, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Punishment, Sexual Roleplay, Smut, Sort Of, Top Hank Anderson, forced orgasm sort of, no beta we die like men, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 13:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17305538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: “Were you a good boy while I was away?” Hank croons, half-serious half-ironic, from across the room as he hangs up his coat. Connor bites his lip while Hank still isn’t looking. He hasn’t been bad, he sure of it, but something feels wrong. Now would be the time to come clean but…It’s not a lie. Not really.__Inspired by a friend's handle on Twitter. Enjoy <3





	Disobedience

In the confusing aftermath of the revolution, Connor’s place at the DPD isn’t clear. For the first few months, Captain Fowler had let him continue working. As the matter of android pay becomes more complicated, Jeffrey decides it is best for Connor to stay home until Congress finishes ironing out all the new laws.

Connor sulks at first. With nothing to do while Hank is at the office, he becomes bored very quickly. After Hank comes home to an entirely rearranged house for the third time, he introduces Connor to his book collection.

“Not that I mind the feng shui shit you’re trying to achieve here,” Hank casts a critical gaze around the confusing assortment of furniture that is now his living room, “but I think we need to get you a new hobby.”

Connor blasts through the first three books in five minutes by looking them up online. When Hank finds him standing stock still in front of the bookshelf, LED whirling yellow, he gives Connor’s arm a little shake.

Hank’s admonishment, though not mean, stings, “Christ, not like that Con. You’ll be done in a few hours at this rate.” Hank plucks a likely looking candidate from the shelf and deposits it in Connor’s hands. Connor likes the texture of the cover and the quality of paper.

After finishing his second crime novel, he finds he does prefer to read the books by hand. When Hank asks him about it, he blushes deeply, claiming he likes the feeling of turning the pages. In reality, he likes it because it makes Hank happy. As if on cue, Hank ruffles his hair and Connor’s skin all but sings at the touch. 

By the end of the third week, Connor has burned through most of Hank’s crime novels. Searching around for something new, he finds dusty and long-untouched novels with red spines. Intrigued, he pulls one out before glancing at the cover and hastily cramming it back on the shelf.

 _Erotica_ flashes across his HUD and he notes with interest that his thirium pump is working twenty percent harder despite exerting no additional effort. Tentatively, he reaches for the book again and settles onto the couch.

Connor knows what sex is, he’d garnered more than adequate knowledge on that from his exploits with Hank, but he didn’t realize how many options were available to him regarding his approach. When Hank comes home that evening, he finds Connor nose deep in his fourth smutty novel of the day, the other three laying in a haphazard pile on the couch next to him.

Hank is about to speak when Connor beats him to the punch, eerily continuing to read while talking at the same time, “Hank, why haven’t you ever told me about any of this?”

Hank glances at the cover and realizes what Connor’s reading, “Lord, Connor. I’d forgotten I even had those. Laura had been big into bodice rippers.” Connor’s LED whirls at the mention of Hank’s ex-wife and the unfamiliar term.

Finally tearing his eyes away from whatever explicit scene he had been reading only moments before, he clarifies, “No, I meant why do we always have sex in the same couple of ways? Why do you always wait for me to initiate?”

Connor expects Hank to balk or make excuses. He’s surprised when Hank offers, “It wouldn’t be fair to you. You’re just finding out what you like. If I dropped my tastes on you without any experience you might think that’s your only option when it’s not.”

Connor considers him for a moment before turning his head back to the book, “Well, I like _this_.”

Hank laughs deeply before sitting on the side of the couch not littered with erotic novels, “They’re designed to be sexy, Connor. Almost everybody would like ‘em.”

Connor shakes his head without looking up from the book in his hands, “That second one was terrible. The first one was ok. This one is—,” Connor cuts himself off to sigh, overheated. That catches Hank’s attention. Sneaking a look at the title, he suppresses the urge to raise his eyebrows. This one, he knows. Whether or not he’d ever admit it, Hank’s read a fair few of the smuttier books on his shelves.

 _If Connor wants to play that game,_ he thinks to himself, letting the thought remain unfinished. Now isn’t the time, but he makes a mental note for the near future. Putting some of his suspicions to the test, he places a hand over Connor’s, closing the book. “How about you take a break from debauching maidens to help me with this case.”

Connor wrinkles his nose at the closed book then lifts his grumpy expression up to Hank, “But I was just getting to the good part. Constance—she’s the main love interest—she’s mischievous. She’s going to be in so much troub—”

Hank cuts Connor off by physically grabbing his jaw and running his thumb over Connor’s bottom lip, “I wasn’t asking, Con.” Hank isn’t a stupid man, Connor knows, but he had no idea until this moment how quick Hank is on the uptake. He nods mutely, ignoring the system warning that he’s overheating again.

Hank releases Connor’s chin and pats his cheek before murmuring in a low voice, “Good.” While the word does nothing for his internal temperature, his stress levels drop significantly. A vivid blush spreads across his cheeks like the tide, and he rises to put away the books in an effort to hide his face.

Hank spends the next week testing Connor’s preferences, finding the majority of the time he seeks out and responds enthusiastically to praise. Connor aims to please and his android precision allows him to do so with an almost perfect success rate.

Almost.

The sultry novels were beginning to become a bit of a problem. As Connor had pointed out, Hank usually let Connor come to him in matters of sex. However, since Connor found his romance collection, his need to be physical had mysteriously vanished.

Hank hadn’t thought much of it as first. Connor’s sex drive had always outpaced his own. Whether it was because he was an android with a short refractory period or because sex was new to him, Connor wants it nearly every day. After a week of no advances, Hank has a growing suspicion.

“Hey, Connor?” Connor’s head pops out from the kitchen, stirring a bowl that looks suspiciously like mixed greens. He makes a _hmm_ sound letting Hank know that he has his attention, “What do you do when you finish one of those novels?”

Connor’s eyes slant away, his cheeks coloring slightly. Hank was pretty sure he knew the answer before he asked the question, but Connor’s expression confirms it.

When Connor remains frozen, wooden spoon buried in the mixing bowl, Hank growls out, “I’m waiting.”

His tone jerks Connor into action. In a dizzying blur of speed, Connor is straddling Hank’s lap, the salad bowl crammed awkwardly between them.

“Don’t be mad,” is all Connor says, the earnest desire to please painted clear as day on his face.

“So you have done something _bad_ then,” Hank chooses the word purposefully and watches how Connor deflates beneath the weight of it.

“It’s not b-bad.” Connor stumbles over the word, but presses on, “You said it wasn’t. You said it was normal. You said—,” Hank lifts a finger to Connor’s lips, silencing him. Tugging the bowl from out between them, he pulls Connor close enough to count his freckles. Connor closes his eyes, unhappy and unwilling to meet Hank’s gaze.

They jerk open again when Hank kisses his forehead. Connor sits up straight, trying to gauge Hank’s expression and finds it impossible to read.

“It’s not necessarily bad,” Hank begins slowly as if approaching a wild animal about to flee, “but it’s not something you should do all the time. Especially if it’s interfering with our sex life.”

Connor’s mouth drops open into a perfect circle before whispering a tiny _Oh_ of understanding. Trying desperately to get back into Hank’s good graces, he begins to tug at Hank’s belt as if it’s on fire. Firm hands close over his own. Connor’s about to pout when he hears Hank chuckle. _Not so angry after all_ , he thinks.

“It’s not something that has to happen right this second, Connor. I’m just saying…” his voice fades off and a ponderous expression crosses his face. Connor’s on the verge of asking him what he’s thinking about when Hank starts to speak again, “Actually, Connor, I have a proposition for you.”

Connor sits back with his hands folded in his lap, waiting.

“You’re almost done with another one of the Constance series, right? That character you like best?” Connor nods at him slowly, not understanding where he’s going with it. Hank grins at him wickedly, the gap between his teeth peeking out at Connor.

“Well, I want you to finish it tomorrow while I’m at work.” Connor gives him a quizzical look and Hank continues, “But you are not—and let me be clear about this—you are _not_ to touch yourself afterward.” A small shiver runs through Connor before he nods slowly and Hank knows he’s made his mark. “We’ll take care of it together, ok?”

When Connor gives him an affirmative, Hank rises from the couch, forcing Connor to his feet, “As for tonight, I’m not eating that.” He points at the salad bowl on the floor and Connor laughs at Hank’s return to his usual affable nature when around him.

The following day proves challenging. Connor finishes the book around one in the afternoon, the stiff arousal in his pants begging for attention. Remembering his promise to Hank, he stands and resolutely ignores the way his cock bobs against the soft fabric of his pajama pants.

Glancing down, he decides he should probably get dressed given how late in the day it is. He’s about to put on one of his own starched white shirts when a thought occurs to him. He knows how Hank prefers it when he wears his clothes. Hank denies as much and even pretends to be irritated about it sometimes, but Connor can see the look in his eye.

Smiling slightly, Connor digs around looking for the oversized dark grey sweater Hank likes so much. It slopes off one of Connor’s narrow shoulders and the sleeves hang half way down his hands. The bottom hem tightens slightly just above mid-thigh. He considers putting on pants but thinks better of it. With the way he’s feeling, he wants as few barriers as possible between him and Hank when he gets home. For his own comfort, he pulls on some briefs.

Lounging in the chair with one naked leg dangling off the side, Connor lasts ten minutes before caving, “How is it only 1:15?” he asks the room at large. When it supplies no answer, Connor scowls and sinks deeply into the chair. He feels the material of the sweater rub over where his thirium pump regulator is concealed when he crosses his arms.

“Oh,” he brings his fingers up to prod at it, “ _Oh_.” It comes out quiet and heavy with longing. Connor knows his obvious erogenous zones, but he’d never thought to find out if there were more. He knew Hank had places he liked to be touched that weren’t technically sexual in origin—his beard, for instance. Hank grumbled about Connor mussing up his facial hair on more than one occasion, but his heart rate ticked upward every time in clear betrayal.

Hiking up the sweater, Connor pulls back his skin to reveal the regulator. As he suspected, touching it directly has a much greater effect. He gasps and bucks involuntarily into nothing.

A sensual thought skitters across his HUD _Find other zones_. The sweater is halfway over his head when he remembers his promise to Hank. The thirium pump discovery had been an accident. He could explain that away. Looking willingly for stimulation, though, was another thing altogether.

Still, his mind begins construction possibilities and likely outcomes. _Hank will never know_ he thinks to himself. After several dozen calculations that take him less than five seconds, Connor makes his decision. He’ll go hunting for sensitive places, but he _won’t_ touch himself otherwise. It’s strictly for research purposes. For Hank.

His rationalizing falls apart the first moment his fingertips brush over a nipple. At the first sensation, his hand drifts suspiciously close to the waist of his briefs. When he rolls one beaded tip between his fingers he nearly breaks, ready to take himself in hand.

It baffles him. He’s touched Hank’s on numerous occasions without drawing any kind of response. Why Connor reacts and Hank doesn’t is a mystery, but not one he can be bothered by at the moment. He finds other places as well. Some are unsurprising, like his neck. Others strike him as distinctly odd, like his inner thighs.

Deciding the self-exploration was a bad idea after all, Connor realizes with a jolt that it’s almost four in the afternoon and that Hank will be home soon. Feeling a bit frantic, Connor tries to rearrange his sweater and calm down. He strikes a relaxing pose and tries to read to pass the final minutes before Hank comes home.

His eyes can’t focus on the page. Warnings and errors keep popping up about his stress and heat levels, distracting him. With an irritated jerk, he disables all but critical notifications. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the feeling that he’s made a mistake. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s still ragingly hard. He still wants Hank to fuck him in half. Everything will be fine.

No amount of self-assurance can rid him of the niggling doubt at the back of his mind. Before he can examine it further, he hears a key in the door. He casts his eyes back down to the open book and pretends to read.

“Were you a good boy while I was away?” Hank croons, half-serious half-ironic, from across the room as he hangs up his coat. Connor bites his lip while Hank still isn’t looking. He hasn’t been bad, he sure of it, but something feels wrong. Now would be the time to come clean but…

It’s not a lie. Not really.

“Yes, Hank,” he arranges his face into his most honest expression and waits. Hank must fall for the ruse because he beckons to him with a smile after he settles himself onto the couch. Connor rises, setting his book aside, and straddles Hank’s large thighs.

He buries his face into Hank’s neck, inhaling his masculine scent and smiling a little smugly. He understands the characters in the novels a little better now. It’s _exhilarating_ to get away with something, even if he’s still not certain what that something is.

Hank’s hand drifts up to Connor’s hair before dragging his nails lightly along his scalp, “I love when you’re good for me.” He murmurs in into the soft flesh of Connor’s exposed shoulder, the sweater slumping far to the side. Connor exhales a contented sigh at the sensation of whiskers and lips brushing over his skin.

Hank’s hand tightens without warning, yanking Connor back by his hair, forcing him to meet Hank’s gaze. Warm brown eyes connect with thunderous blue ones, a storm building in power with each passing second, “But I hate it when you lie.”

Connor’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops open slightly, “I—What?” He isn’t sure what to say in response. He’s not certain how much Hank knows and doesn’t want to incriminate himself.

In answer, Hank grabs the remote and clicks on the TV. He fiddles with the input a few times, searching for something. Connor tries to turn and see, but Hank’s grip in his hair holds him in place. Connor knows Hank’s found what he’s looking for when a soft, predatory smile consumes his face.

When Hank prevents Connor from turning again, he lets out a small whine. Hank’s eyes flick from the television to Connor, his cold blue gaze pinning Connor in place as much as his hand. “You don’t need to see the screen to know what’s on it. Interface.” He issues the order curtly and Connor complies immediately.

“Display it on your hand,” Hank’s voice pierces through him and he flinches before turning his hand palm up and projecting what must be on the screen behind him. Connor startles when he realizes he’s seeing footage of the living room.

Connor starts to ask, “How is—,” when Hank cuts him off mid-sentence.

“Remember the security system you insisted we install for when you’re in stasis?” Connor nods, dread coursing through his circuitry. “Well, it has a nifty feature where I can look into the home while I’m away. It allows me to see if there are any intruders.”

Hank’s tone up to this point has been light, but he has yet to slacken his grip on Connor’s head. He pulls Connor forward, knocking him off balance. Connor shoots out an arm to brace against the couch, Hank’s mouth next to his ear, “It also shows me when you’ve been disobedient.”

Hank chose the word on purpose and the effect is immediate. Connor starts panting in short bursts, trying to expel heat from his chassis. “Hank, please. I haven’t—,”

Hank interrupts him again, “Fast forward to around one o’clock this afternoon.” Connor goes stock-still and knows without a doubt that he’s been caught.

Still, he has to try, “Please, Hank. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t touch—,” Hank releases his grip on Connor’s hair and opts to stroke Connor through the crotch of his underwear. Connor buckles at the unexpected touch.

“You didn’t touch this?” Hank asks coyly, thumb rubbing at the wet spot that’s been there all afternoon from Connor’ perpetually leaking hard on, “I know. But that wasn’t our bargain was it?” Connor meets his gaze and realizes with horror that Hank is right. Connor, with his perfect recall, hadn’t thought to review the particulars.

The smirk on Hank’s face is fiendish when he asks, “What did I tell you, Connor?”

 “Not to touch myself,” he says it in a near-silent whisper without thinking.

“And what exactly were you doing for the better part of the afternoon?” The question pulls Connor back to the present.

“Please, Hank. I forgot—I mean, I thought you meant not to touch…not to…,” he breaks off seeing from Hank’s expression that he will not be moved.

“You thought I meant for you not to get off?” The blunt question makes Connor cringe and he feels stupid, so _stupid_ , for messing up like this.

Hank heaves a false sigh before asking, “What am I going to do with you?” The hand Connor had forgotten was still laying heavily across his crotch tightens once more, demanding an answer.

“I’m sorry,” he says it in a state of panic and with such sincerity that Hank’s stony expression breaks for a moment.

“Hey,” his free hand cradles Connor’s cheek and he all but collapses into it, “This? This is just…This is what I meant by your inexperience.”

Connor knows Hank is giving him an out, but he doesn’t want to take it. He wants Hank to be happy with him. He wants Hank to hold him and not feel like a dirty liar who can’t follow one simple directive. 

Connor shakes his head, “I want this. I want to please you. Please, Hank, how can I fix it?” Hank’s eyes stay soft for a moment, taking in Connor’s genuine affection. After a few seconds, he nods and Connor can feel Hank slip back into the moment like donning a hand-tailored suit. 

“Well, I have some ideas. But you need to understand, when we’re through, that’s it. I won’t bring it up again or hold it over you later. If you need to stop, you say _red_. If you can’t say it, change your LED to let me know. Either way, I’ll stop.”

“If we stop,” Connor hesitates, embarrassment tangles thickly with his words, “Will I still be forgiven?”

Hank’s eyes narrow a fraction, calculating, “We’ll figure out how you can make it up to me another day.” _So, no, then_ he thinks morosely. Connor knows what this is; he’s read enough filthy novels to make sure of that. This is a punishment, clear as day. Fear and desire course through his processors and he finds himself getting impossibly harder at the thought.

Hank knows Connor’s tells and smirks before rising, “Undress and wait for me there.” Hank points to a chair he’d dragged out from the kitchen earlier that week to reach something from the top of his bookshelf. Connor had been meaning to put it back for days, but his need to read and masturbate had distracted him. Hank leaves the room without a backward glance and Connor is comically quick to comply with his command.

When Hank returns, he’s carrying three loudly patterned ties that Connor knows usually live in the back of his closet. “Hands behind the chair,” is all he says by way of explanation, and Connor obeys. He feels Hank loop a tie around his wrists and pull it tight. When Connor tugs, he finds they don’t give. He could tear through them if he absolutely had to, but the pressure on his shoulders would likely damage him. Hank moves around to his ankles and binds each one to a front leg of the chair.

Connor watches him in silence, apprehension growing with each passing second that Hank doesn’t speak. Finally, unable to take it anymore, he asks, “Hank, what are youff—” Hank silences him by jamming two thick fingers into his mouth.

“I didn’t ask you to talk,” he says it sardonically before adding, “Now, suck.” Connor complies and he can feel his backlog screaming data at him. With his main feed disabled, he can’t see what the data tells him. He already knows, of course, and can almost see _Hank Anderson / Male / 53_ where it would usually display.

The deprivation of it makes him needy. He considers turning everything back on for stability, but he finds it difficult to focus when Hank starts to finger fuck his mouth, dragging the rough pads of his fingers across his tongue. When Hank moves to pull them free, Connor’s head follows, greedy for any part of Hank.

Hank gives him an amused smile before bringing his dripping fingers down to Connor’s leaking cock, swirling around the tip. “I noticed some things during your little session this afternoon,” Hank murmurs into his ear, making him shiver.

Hank's slick digits begin to pump up and down Connor’s length while his free hand rises to trace a long line down the curve of his neck, hovering just over one pebbled nipple. Connor hears Hank say, “Like this, for instance,” before watching rough fingers trap the nipple and roll.

It is immeasurably better when Hank does it, Connor decides on the spot. He pitches forward and Hank presses him back with the flat of his hand directly over his thirium pump. “This was interesting, too,” he offers before dragging his nails around the rim of his regulator. Connor seizes in the chair, unable to move.

“Hank, I’m going to—,” he tries to warn him, uncertain of what he expects from him.

Hank smiles, “Come? I know.” Connor meets Hank’s gaze and sees something conniving there. His hand picks up speed while increasing in pressure and Connor orgasms with a shriek. Hank’s hand slows but doesn’t release him.

“Feel better?” Something about Hank’s tone makes Connor shiver. Feeling over sensitive under Hank’s continued ministration, he tries to wiggle out of his grasp, “Something wrong?” Hank’s hand gives him a firm tug and realization melts over Connor like a cracked egg.

“I can’t, please,” it comes out a strangled whisper, but Hank’s response is to chuckle darkly.

“And here I thought androids had no refractory period?” Connor squirms under Hank’s stare, hips jerking, as Hank continues to stroke him through the afterglow.

“Not like you do, but we still need a— _ah_ —a moment,” Hank smiles indulgently at him but doesn’t release his hold on Connor’s dick. It’s agonizing pleasure like Connor’s never felt. He wants to stop so badly, but he wants to be good for Hank. He wants to _try_.

Within minutes, the legendary androids stamina kicks into gear and Hank has Connor panting, cock lubed with his own synthetic semen. He should feel embarrassed, he knows, by his behavior. Little breathy moans escape him, but Hank's mouth next to his ear whispers encouragement and Connor can’t stop.

“So fucking beautiful, look at you. You moan so pretty for me. Can you be a good boy and come for me again?” Connor lets out a strangled sound at the word _good_ and he feels heat surge through his wiring. He doesn’t have the strength to give Hank a proper warning this time, but Hank doesn’t seem to mind the spontaneous orgasm.

“So good for me,” Hank murmurs as he nudges his nose into Connor’s neck. Connor lets out a sob, half at the praise and half at Hank’s hand still gripping his spent dick. He stares down at the display, mouth half open and eyes wild.

Hank notices him looking and asks, “Do you want me to stop?” Connor sobs out a _no_ , unable to do anything about it in his current position anyway.

Hank’s smiles against his neck when he asks, “Then do you want me to keep going?”

“No. Please, I can’t,” Hank’s face pulls away from him, leaving him chilled.

“You seem confused Connor,” Hank’s hand glides loosely up the length of his shaft, “Life is so much easier when you _behave_.” He squeezes the tip of Connor’s dick to emphasize the word, and Connor howls, eyes watering.

“Please, Hank. I can’t—I don’t know…please,” he’s rambling and he’s close to tears, but Hank’s not ready to forgive him and he knows it. Hank lets go of Connor, his flagging cock hitting his thigh wetly.

“I think you can do better than that,” Hank growls from behind him as he roughly tugs off the bindings holding Connor in place. When he’s fully released, Connor does little more than slump in the chair, trying to rally, trying to be good. Hank seizes him under his arms before lifting and tossing him bodily over his shoulder and striding down the hall.

Connor tries to protest weakly, “Hank, your back,” but Hank’s just swats at Connor’s ass in reply. Despite his exhaustion and oversensitivity, his cock half fills at this show of strength. Hank’s physical prowess had always appealed to Connor, knowing he is one of few people who could damage him in a fair fight.

Or pin him down and use him in bed.

The thought makes Connor blush hotly and he lets out a squeal when Hank dumps him in an ungainly heap on his mattress. Hank yanks him down to the foot of the bed before flipping him over.

“On your hands and knees,” the directive comes out harsh, but a soothing hand on Connor’s back lets him know he’s doing well. Connor complies, spreading his knees, but Hank forces them closed again. Connor hears Hank undress before reaching into the bedside drawer. The familiar sound of the uncapping of lube follows suit.

Cold, slick fingers prod at his entrance and he hisses when Hank shoves in two at once. He acclimates quickly, his shoulders unbunching at the intrusion. Hank sets a slow pace and Connor mewls at the faintest strokes that reach the nerve center he knows is located deep within him. Similar to a prostate, Hank had been fascinated to learn the intricate wiring spread to his entire body. If Hank hit it just right, Connor could feel the sensation from head to toe.

“Hank, please. Please.” He’s not even sure what he’s asking for any more. His overused cock twitches with each thrust of Hank’s hand, but it’s not enough to tip him over the edge. Hank’s other hand sweeps between Connor’s thighs, and he nearly buckles at the sensation.

“Yeah,” Hank’s voice sounds out above him, thick and gravelly, “I saw that part of your little show as well.” Not giving Connor time to process that statement, Hank thrusts his rock hard erection between Connor’s thighs.

“HANK!” It’s half a sob and half a scream, the overwhelming sensation of Hank’s fingers stuffing him as his cock fucks just beneath his own bouncing dick. Still, the combination is not enough to bring him to completion.

“Please, Hank. Please, fuck me. I need you in me now. I’m good; I’m being good—PLEASE!” The last word comes out as a shriek when Hank simultaneously thrust between Connor’s thighs and rams his fingers deep inside. Hank slows his pace, considering the request for a moment.

“What if I just want to fuck you like this? What if I want to see you come apart from me fucking your thighs?” Hank punctuates the sentence with a long drag of his dick between Connor’s legs, “What if I don’t think you _deserve_ my cock?” Connor feels tears run down his face and he isn’t sure if it’s from exhaustion or because he’s disappointing Hank.

“Hank please, I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_. I’ll be good, I swear. _Please_. I’ll listen. I’ll—” his voice cuts off in a garbled cry of relief when he feels the smooth, blunt head of Hank’s dick lining up with his sloppy hole. Even with the preparation, Hank inches in slowly, and Connor feels like he’s being split in two.

“Hnnnnnngk,” Hank’s name comes out garbled around clenched teeth. Connor feels Hank loom over him and whisper something in his ear, but his world reduces to the moment when Hank bottoms out, to that point where Hank ends and he begins. When Hank pulls out and thrusts back in, Connor collapses onto his chest in a scream that is beyond human ranges of hearing.

Hank tugs at Connor’s thighs, encouraging him to stay on his knees. “You’re doing so well,” he murmurs into Connor’s skin, “You feel so fucking good, Connor.” Connor seizes at the unexpected praise, feeling sensors and coding rushing away from the strength of his orgasm building in his gut. When Hank slams into his synthetic prostate, his vision bends and warps, warnings popping up about excess stress.

“Hank, please,” he’s begged more than once tonight but he doesn’t care. He needs to hear Hank say it; he needs to know. Hank maintains his brutal pace, reaching around to jerk Connor in time with his thrusts.

Seconds stretch into an eternity and Connor considers for the first time shrieking _red_. He can’t keep doing this; he can’t keep disappointing. Not Hank.

“Please, Hank,” he tries one last time. “Please… _tell me I’m good_ ,” it comes out a broken whisper, but he knows Hank heard him by how he slows his pace. The force of his thrusts are just as strong, but Hank gives him a moment to breathe before slamming back into him.

“You are so, so good Connor. So good to me.” His voice is raw with emotion that he doesn’t often show and Connor sobs as the words wrap around him in a warm embrace. Hank’s hand finds Connor’s and he threads his fingers through it, pressing it deep into the bedding, “You are perfect. Come for me, Connor. Be good for me one more time.” With a wail, Connor’s body spasms and Hank roars incoherent words as his release takes him. Connor feels the warm burst of liquid inside him as his own orgasm leaves him weakly.

Hank pulls out of him slowly before collapsing onto his side, pulling Connor close. Random tasks to clean himself, to clean Hank, to clean the sheets queue in the corner of his mind, but he dismisses them. He can’t move nor does he want to.

Hank's rapid heartbeat starts to slow against Connor’s back and his hand drifts up to Connor’s chest to tug him even closer. Emotional and fragile, Connor turns to look at him, tear tracks streaking his face as new ones threaten to form.

Connor opens his mouth to apologize again when Hank cuts him off by pressing his fingertips to his lips, “Hush now. None of that.” Connor tucks his head into Hank’s chest as Hank’s fingers trail along Connor’s back.

Doubt nags at Connor, tearing at his performance, at Hank’s belief in his goodness. He has to ask.

“Are you still mad?”

Hank shifts to look at Connor’s face before thumbing away a tear, “How could I stay mad at someone as good as you?” Connor chokes out a laugh and buries his face again, _I am good_ scrolling on the marquee in his mind.


End file.
